


in (present) consideration

by bleep0bleep



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Angst, Feelings, Hurt without the comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Missing Scene, Mutual Pining, Other, POV Peter Nureyev, Pining, Reunion Sex, Reunions, Sad Peter Nureyev, Sex, Tenderness, Yearning, self sabotage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:35:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26835307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleep0bleep/pseuds/bleep0bleep
Summary: Peter Nureyev has never needed anyone. It matters not that Juno Steel is here, wide-eyed and barefaced, his naive gaze following Peter everywhere he goes since he’s arrived on Buddy’s ship.Peter shakes himself and shoves the feeling away for future consideration. It joins the myriad of other Juno-inspired emotions, and tucked away deep in his consciousness, he doesn’t have to think about it. It doesn’t have to hurt.*A potential missing scene from "Juno Steel and The Man In Glass."
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 10
Kudos: 47





	in (present) consideration

**Author's Note:**

> *waves shyly at penumbra podcast fandom* 
> 
> hello, longtime listener, first time caller. 
> 
> i've only listened up to 3.02. i've had this in my pocket for months and have finally decided to just post it because that's what i need to do before i keep listening. i have a lot of feelings about this podcast, and i haven't listened to any episodes since 3.02, simply because... well, once you hear it once... can't experience that again, huh? for me at least, anycase. stars. not in position. maybe. maybe soon. i mean i posted this fic, haven't i? that's an investment, isn't it? i mean, since season 3 is ... ongoing and all... i could... listen. it's just one of those things, you know. 
> 
> this was initially meant to be smut, but. um. peter's feelings got in the way. as they do. have some pining, self loathing and a whole lotta yearning instead.

Peter Nureyev has never needed anyone. He’s learned early on that people will always let you down; that to be vulnerable is to be weak, and trusting anyone is setting yourself up for pain. He works alone and has always worked alone, and accepted long ago that it would be his life. And a beautiful life it is, filled with all the things he loves: glittering jewels, sparkling holos filled with precious data and secrets he can sell, sumptuous clothing, rich foods, and every single beautiful city beyond the stars. He goes where the wind takes him, has no home but the one he carries with him in his heart. Peter sees impossibly stunning vistas, forgotten planets, fallen cities, has a life of adventure and drama a young farm boy on a distant backwater planet could have only dreamed of.

Peter certainly doesn’t need Buddy Arinco’s lecture about family, or about working together, and her little jab implying he is a mediocre thief who doesn’t even rank among the top ten thousand in the galaxy irks him more than he cares to admit. But he files it away for future consideration, and reminds himself that being a part of this little crew, this so-called family, is just a means to an end. Giving her Juno Steel’s name as a reference was just another con; the fact that Buddy even questioned his impeccable resume makes him—

Well.

It’s just a feeling, that’s all. And Peter is nothing if not focused, dedicated to the task at hand. It doesn’t matter, and he’s already forgotten the trivial emotions that Buddy inspires. Frustration and anger have no place here. Fold it away. Keep going. 

He is a nameless thief, and an excellent one at that. It matters not that he may be in over his head, but it would do no good to dwell upon that. He is here for one purpose, and one purpose only: to settle his debt.

It matters not that Juno Steel is here, wide-eyed and barefaced, his naive gaze following Peter everywhere he goes since he’s arrived on Buddy’s ship. 

Juno looks good. The patch over his eye tilted at a rakish angle, his brown skin luminous in the starlight reflecting from the windows, his hair wild and carefree. Peter’s forgotten how  _ much _ Juno is, how he throws himself into everything without abandon, how he drinks his coffee, his lips caressing the cup and his throat—

Peter shakes himself and shoves the feeling away for future consideration. It joins the myriad of other Juno-inspired emotions, and tucked away deep in his consciousness, he doesn’t have to think about it. It doesn’t have to hurt. 

The first meeting is annoying at best, making acquaintances with the other crew members a chore, and Juno keeps— Juno keeps  _ looking _ at him. He’s been like this since they’ve boarded the ship, and Peter has made quick work to avoid him as much as possible, to deflect any conversation around what happened the last time they were together, the night they—

Peter will not be weak again.

It’s an embarrassment, really. The things he said, the feelings he— no. Peter doesn’t _ do  _ this, he doesn’t do intimacy, and he certainly doesn’t ask people like Juno Steel to run away with him to the stars. That didn’t happen. 

Something deep and uncomfortable rises inside him, his gut reeling with something like instinct, that Peter is lying to himself, that he really feels what he’s been afraid of his whole life, that it’s already happened and he’s helpless to stop it, stop the undercurrent that will turn into a tidal wave of an emotion Peter cannot have in his life. 

He is here to settle his debts. 

Peter tunes out the rest of the meeting, except for the image of Juno choking on his coffee when Buddy makes her crude joke, and retires to his quarters for the evening to review the plans for the heist. 

He’s on his third memorization when the knock occurs.

It’s a sharp quick three raps, like the knocker is in a hurry to do it before they run out of courage.

Peter opens the door.

Juno is standing there. He smiles at Peter, apprehensive, nervous. His eyes are shining with the same something that made Peter pause the first time they met: a glimmer of determination.

“Hello, Juno,” Peter says, as pleasantly as he can and still conveying a mild-mannered sense of casual  _ I’m annoyed you’re here but I refuse to be impolite about it. _

“Let’s talk about the heist,” Juno says, shouldering past Peter and into the room. “Hey, your room is bigger! What gives!” 

Peter tenses as Juno sits on his bed—there’s not anywhere else to sit, but the sight of him on the royal purple silk sheets (Peter couldn’t simply imagine packing for a long-term endeavor without them) makes him want to throw caution to the wind and forget all the rules he made for himself, the carefully crafted casualness he decided he would need to interact with Juno, and just—

Juno leans back, the open collar of his shirt drifting with the movement to reveal a delicate collarbone, and a sudden memory rushes unbidden to Peter’s mind, the way Juno’s skin tasted, the deep, desperate sounds he made with Peter’s mouth on his. 

Peter leans against the wall. 

“Can I help you, Juno?” 

“Yeah, you can help me. We’re supposed to be in this together, this heist, and you haven’t said a word to me since I first signed on, so I think, you know, in the spirit of teamwork, that we ought to—” Juno waggles his eyebrows that ages ago would have charmed Peter, this attempt at flirtation, the way Juno holds himself like he wouldn’t believe for one moment that he could captivate a galaxy from across the room.

Peter has already seen the ballgown that was procured for this particular con, and has already imagined Juno wearing it too many times, imagined unlacing the delicate straps that hold it in place, letting it slide down Juno’s shoulders—

No. Do not imagine it one more time. Future. Consideration. 

“Ought to  _ what _ , now?” Peter drawls out.

Juno’s eyes drop to Peter’s lips. 

Of course. 

Peter steps forward and taps Juno’s chin with his thumb and forefinger. It’s meant to be a light, teasing touch, a rebuff of sorts, a laughing reminder that Peter is in control, that Juno Steel has no effect on his emotions, but the minute his skin touches Juno’s it’s magnetic, and Peter can’t help but to linger in that moment, and if Juno happens to lean into the touch, letting Peter’s fingers pan out into what could be a caress, the way Juno draws his face foreward, Peter finds himself lingering in the touch, letting his fingers dance there, like a caress, bringing Juno and those lips that have captured his dreams and all his unconscious considerations despite himself forward. 

Juno’s eyes widen, ever so slightly, his mouth falling open, and his chin tilts like it is meant to fit in Peter’s hand.

The kiss feels inevitable.

Peter is lost in the moment, the now, the way Juno kisses him softly, gentle at first, and then harder, like a man starved for days without this, this simple touch. 

They collapse back onto the sheets and Juno is pressing kisses everywhere as he undresses Peter, his neck, his collarbone, down his navel, and then it gets frantic as Peter undoes Juno’s belt.

Peter cannot remember where it began, where time stopped and there is only Juno’s skin, perfect and bare on his, Juno’s breath soft against his own, the way he feels, pressed up against him, moaning softly, “Peter,  _ Peter,  _ Peter…”

It’s his own name that brings him back to the present, and oh, what a present it is. His own name being whispered like a prayer, Juno lost in the plot of it, and Peter— he tries to get a sense of it, to stay in control, but being with Juno like this is anything but control, and Peter can barely keep track of it, barely follow it except that every breath, every arch of Juno’s back makes him ache, makes him want to give Juno more, make him taste every pleasure of every star in the universe, because Juno is good, of all the impossibilities in the universe, of every soul Peter has ever met, if Peter has ever believed in anything, it is that Juno is every good he claims not to be.

Peter can only do so much. He can only be here, present with this gift, and oh does he give back. He kisses Juno’s neck, presses deep inside him as Juno clamors for more, feels the scrape of Juno’s nails down his back, his fingers digging into Peter’s shoulderblades like he’s holding on for more, and Peter is gone. He wants to stay here, buried in the scent of him, buried in Juno Steel, the best most impossible thing he has ever come across in the universe.

Peter has always made it a point in his travels that he never stays, never puts down roots, never settles because all the stars are open to him and that freedom is so important. 

It’s just sex. Peter can’t… he has to file it away for future consideration, the way he’s feeling right now with Juno underneath him, his eyes soft with trust and the way he says “Peter,” one more time, eyes widening as he tastes the stars.

Peter loses it. He’s in the present, completely and irrevocably lost in Juno wrapped around him, and oh.  _ Oh _ . This is love, in the way Juno says Peter’s name, the way it’s soft and gentle like the word is safe on Juno’s lips, the way Peter trusted him with his full name against all his reservations not to, and here it is, whispered against his own skin with a kiss, soft, precious.

Peter loves him, and he cannot have him. This is a temporary distraction, because Juno— it’s Juno that can’t focus, not Peter. Juno just needed to get this physical release out of his system, and he’ll be better after, and they can work this heist and move forward and Peter has too many debts to pay.

“Peter,” Juno sighs, like a vow, like a promise.

Peter could have chosen any name for this con, and perhaps it was selfish of him to want Juno to say his name like that again, to hear his real name, soft on those lips, precious and safe. 

Juno sighs against him, happy, sated, blissful and content. Peter presses one soft kiss to his forehead and allows himself one rare, precious moment. One moment where he believes he can have this, where he believes he can be loved like Juno thinks he loves him. 

Because it isn’t true. Because it can’t be true.

Peter takes a deep breath and comes back to himself, where he is, who is exactly in his bed right now. He files it away for future consideration. 

“There you go,” Peter says, as easy as can be, just the note of casualness in his tone that he knows will throw Juno off, make him defensive.

Juno groans, oblivious. He curls over, throws a leg over Peter’s thigh. “Where’d that damn blanket go? Peter, are these silk sheets? Like, old-Earth silk?” He snuggles in, taking a deep breath. Like he belongs here, in Peter’s bed. 

One more thought rises unbidden, unwanted in Peter’s present, logical mind.

_ He does,  _ his traitorous heart whispers. _ We fit here. We fit together. You asked him to go with you. To the stars. And here he is. He came and found you. He left his city behind. For you. _

Peter shuffles the intuition away, what it could possibly mean. He’s here, in the present. And he has a job to do. 

“You got what you wanted,” Peter says, his voice dripping with distance. He forces himself to sit up, away from Juno. A smoke would be good right now, but he doesn’t have anything. Buddy made sure of that when he boarded. Jerk. 

“Wha— what? Peter. Nureyev. Come on.” Juno looks at him, wide-eyed, hurt crossing his beautiful face.

Peter’s heart gives a terrifying lurch.

This. This is what he was afraid of. This is what— what silly emotions do to you— they make you— they make you put everything aside, think of someone else first, when really Peter is so close to— he can’t— 

“I’ll see you at the con,” Peter says. “I’ve got work to do.” 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! i'm on the [tumblr](http://bleep0bleep.tumblr.com), the blue hellsite that won't let go. i mean, i do the [twitter](http://twitter.com/bleep0bleep) too, but barely.


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